


Vegas, Baby

by geekprincess26



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breakup Recovery, Crack Fic, F/M, Fluff, Melodrama, Romance, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekprincess26/pseuds/geekprincess26
Summary: ON HIATUS AND UNDER RECONSTRUCTION - What happens there is supposed to stay there.  But, as Jon Snow and Sansa Stark learn after one very entertaining and very alcohol-fueled weekend, it never quite does.





	1. Prologue

Sansa Stark swore under her breath.

The chunk of green apple had fallen off the toothpick to the bottom of her martini glass.  Bottom as in right above the stem.  Sticking the toothpick all the way through the apple would mean plunging her fingers her drink.  And that damn green apple martini had cost too much for her to ruin, even if the apple was her favorite part of it. 

Sansa sighed and pulled the straw from her water glass.  She pushed one end underneath the apple chunk and gently maneuvered it upwards until the fruit got stuck underneath a piece of ice.  Swearing again, she pushed the apple harder.  It promptly flew out of the glass and skittered across the counter and onto the floor, accompanied by bits of ice.  A few more chunks landed squarely on Sansa’s arms and chest, and a particularly large cube slipped underneath the plunging neckline of her dress and into her décolletage.  Sansa squealed at the shock, dropped her drink’s lime-green straw onto the counter, and grabbed frantically at her dress until she managed to clench some of the fabric over the remains of the ice cube.  It would leave a spot on her favorite dress, but that beat groping herself in front of the entire bar.  Barely.  And either of those would have been the least shitty thing about her life over the past month.

Sansa sighed heavily.  Thirty-one days ago, she had been both Teacher of the Year at Winterfell Elementary School and the blissful future Mrs. Harry Hardyng.  She and Harry had just moved into the condo of Sansa’s dreams, and she had just paid the DJ’s deposit for their winter wedding.  

Then she had come home early from work one day - her thirtieth birthday, to be exact - and found her fiancé in bed with another woman.  And she’d been too shocked - or too timid - to kick Harry in the balls like she should have done.  But no, she’d dashed out of the condo instead and barely managed to make it to her best friend Margaery’s house before collapsing.

Twenty-seven days later, Sansa was out a fiance and thousands of dollars in wedding deposits, scrimping to afford a tiny studio apartment all the way across town from Margaery and her other friends, and locking herself in one of the school’s bathroom stalls every day during lunch break to sob hysterically.

Four days ago, Margaery had knocked on Sansa’s door, dragged her out of her bedroom, and announced that if Sansa could not get her mind off of a scumbag dick who deserved less than none of her time and energy, Margaery would do it for her.  She’d planted herself on Sansa’s sofa, set down a bottle of red wine on the coffee table, and announced that since the school was holding spring break next week, she and Sansa would celebrate by going to Las Vegas. 

And that was how Sansa had found herself getting dragged into a cheesy club called The Emerald on St. Patrick’s Day.  Everything in this place except for the damned ice chunks was green, from the carpet to the bar stools to the strings of lights hanging from the ceiling.  Even Margaery’s dress was green, for gods’ sake.  Of course, Margaery had always gone overboard for holidays.  She’d even worn a pair of earrings shaped like four-leaf clovers and a bracelet to match.  Now she was off flirting with some random redhead on the dance floor, and Sansa sat clutching her blessedly sky-blue dress - no amount of pouting from Margery could convince her to wear a stitch of green - and waiting for the ice to melt so she could lay into her green drink with a vengeance.

“No luck o’ the Irish for you, then?”

Startled, Sansa let go of her dress at once. She bit back a wince as the remains of the ice cube melted somewhere beneath her sternum and turned to meet a twinkling pair of blue eyes. Two months ago, she would have considered both them and their owner’s fine head of blond hair beautiful. Now they only reminded her of Harry. That, however, was not the fault of the grinning young man in front of her, so she manufactured an apologetic smile for him.

“I guess not,” she said. The man winked at her.

“I’d say otherwise,” he replied, opening his hand to reveal the apple chunk Sansa had sent flying to the floor earlier. He set it on the counter, and Sansa, flushing, murmured, “Thanks.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” the man replied, winking again. Sansa wondered if he had something in his eye. Then he stuck out his hand.

“Aegon Targaryen, by the way,” he said as Sansa returned the gesture.

“Sansa Stark,” she offered, but he did not let go of her hand. Instead, he glanced down at their joined fingers and swept his gaze upward. Sansa pulled her hand back at once.

“So sorry.” Aegon finally seemed to notice Sansa’s grimace. “I was just wondering – are those real?” Seeing her flinch, he added, “Your eyes, of course. I’m an optometrist, and I almost never see a shade like that occur naturally in my clients. Most girls would kill for what you have.” He winked again, but this time Sansa cut him off before he could continue.

“Thanks,” she answered, her lips pinching around every word. “I appreciate it, but I’m not interested.”

Before she could finish cussing herself out for getting so rusty at turning a guy down, Aegon flashed her another grin. His teeth were definitely bleached. Just like Harry’s.

“In that case,” he said, “I take back what I said earlier. About the luck of the Irish, that is,” he added, seeing her nonplussed expression. “My dear, you have it from your eyes to your gorgeous red toes.”

His gaze swept smoothly from top to bottom. Sansa had been checked out far too many times not to notice how it lingered on her chest.

“Excuse me,” she ground out, and whipped her purse off the back of her chair. Unfortunately, she decided to grab her drink while she was at it. That gave Aegon Tarcreepyen enough time to put his hand on her arm.

“Oh, come, love, I didn’t mean – ” he began. Before Sansa could decide whether to scream or smack him with her purse and hope his grip wasn’t stronger than it felt, a deep voice from just above her distracted both her and Tarcreepyen long enough to make him let go of her and Sansa to drop her glass to the emerald green tile floor, where it promptly shattered.

“There you are, sweet girl! I’ve been looking all over for you,” said the voice. Sansa’s gaze snapped upward to discover its gentle cadence coming from the mouth of a man with the wildest head of dark curls she had ever seen. His deep gray eyes were glaring over her shoulder at Tarcreepyen.

 _Oh, thank gods,_ breathed the portion of Sansa’s brain that wasn’t screaming about how familiar the man looked. But relief took precedence for the moment. Her hand shot out to perch on the man’s arm, and she broke out her sweetest smile.

“Sorry to make you wait, honey,” she said cheerfully. “I got interrupted.” She turned and threw Tarcreepyen the dirtiest look she could muster. He backed away slowly, and once he had slunk around the corner, Sansa turned to her rescuer with a sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” she said, and the smile dropped off her face at once. “That was a creep and a half.”

The man’s gaze gentled, and Sansa’s smile would have reappeared had she not promised herself at least six blessedly single months after Harry’s betrayal.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “Are you OK?”

Sansa nodded, but her rescuer did not seem convinced.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Can I get a friend for you? Maybe call you a cab later if you don’t have someone with you?”

For a moment Sansa wondered if she had run from Tarcreepyen only to fall into the clutches of some Craigslist Killer wannabe. But his forehead wrinkled in such adorable earnest, and a truly smooth predator would not be wearing a black T-shirt that had _E = mc 2 (GRAVITY FOR DUMMIES)_ emblazoned across the chest in a place like this. And he would not be rubbing the back of his neck like –

That was when recognition hit her like a bolt of lightning. If she had still been holding her sad green apple martini, she would have dropped it for sure.

“Jon?” she gasped. “Jon _Snow_?”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot of action in this chapter, but sometimes the drama has to play second fiddle to the backstory. Enjoy the smooth sailing while it lasts, folks, 'cause the ride is about to get a whole lot bumpier!

Jon Snow’s hand froze on the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment.  The furrow of his brow went from adorably concerned to adorably confused.

Sansa supposed she should have known he’d try to forget her after what had happened in their junior year of high school, right before Jon and his family had left Wintertown.  But her hand was already extending, and her mouth was already forming the words, “Sansa Stark.”  She almost snatched her hand back when Jon said her name at exactly the same time, and it was her turn to freeze in place when he actually smiled at her.  His face lit up like the sun in a dark, wild sky any girl would kill to run her hands through.  Well, almost every girl, for Sansa had long ago lost any right to think that way, even if she couldn’t keep her heart from beating a little faster than usual.  All right, quite a bit faster than usual.   She was still debating whether she could be blamed for it in light of the utter transformation of Jon Snow, geek extraordinaire, into Jon Snow, Greek god extraordinaire, when the voice of the man himself interrupted her thoughts.

“You all right?” Jon’s eyebrows had risen, and, Sansa realized, her mouth was wide open.  She shut it at once, nodded hastily, and let him shake her proffered hand.

“Yeah, I’m - yeah, I’m great now that Creep 101 has left the building,” she heard herself stutter.  “How are - how have you been doing, Jon?”

Jon smiled again.  Sansa's heart beat a little faster again.

“Pretty well,” he said.  “I live in Pittsburgh now.  I teach mechanical engineering at Pitt.”  He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted when a group of people crowded past him to get to the bar.  When he stepped back to avoid them, he very nearly ran into Sansa, only stopping himself just in time by grabbing hold of a chair.  Sansa swerved to avoid him, but her back hit the bar counter before she could get far, and she stopped with her face barely a foot away from Jon’s.

Sansa sucked in her breath.  She inhaled a delicious, masculine blend of cedar and cotton, a beautiful departure from the liquor and sweat of the club around her.  Even if she had wanted to step away from that, she thought faintly, she was pinned to the spot by Jon’s startled gaze, which under the bar lighting had lit up like two spots of liquid chrome.  She felt her own eyes widen, and although they could not possibly be as pretty as Jon’s, his face flushed red anyway, and he continued to stare at her even though he had regained his balance.  The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment Sansa had the utterly idiotic thought that Jon might want to kiss her.  Then he cleared his throat and stepped away from the chair, and the spell was broken.  Sansa cursed inwardly at her silliness, since Margaery was not there at the moment to remind her that life was neither a Disney movie nor a rom-com.  “Not even fucking horrible rom-com,” as Margaery liked to put it.  And besides, she was probably the last girl Jon Snow would ever want to kiss, Vegas or no.

“Sorry about that.”  Jon’s voice interrupted Sansa around her tenth or eleventh expletive.  He gestured toward the bar.  “Would you like to sit down?  I’ll get you another drink to make up for the one from before.”

Sansa risked a glance at the dance floor.  Margaery, to her utter lack of surprise, was now dancing nose to nose with the red-headed man from earlier.

“Sure,” she said, returning her full attention to Jon.  “I’ve got time.  My friend won’t get off the floor any time soon.”

The corners of Jon’s mouth quirked upward, revealing the slight dimple Sansa had forgotten about.  “Same here,” he said.  “Robb’s out there too.”

“Robb?  He’s here?”  Sansa grinned.  Robb Tully, Jon’s adoptive brother, had been the big brother Sansa had never had back when they’d been kids.  He’d given her countless piggyback rides and introduced her to rollerblading and otherwise teased and spoiled her to no end.

Jon nodded.  “Yep.  His boss had two tickets to Vegas for the weekend, but his wife got sick, so he gave them to Robb, and Robb talked me into coming with him.”  He shrugged.  “I got to see a couple of friends who work at WLVU.  He gets to hit the bars and find his next girlfriend.”

Sansa grinned again.  The only time Jon had ever gone to parties or dances in high school was when Robb had sweet-talked him into it.

“In other words, he hasn’t changed much,” she replied.  Robb had had at least three girlfriends a year, starting about the sixth grade.

Jon’s dimple reappeared.  “Aside from the law degree, nope, not really,” he said. 

Sansa nodded.  “Lawyer.  I’m not surprised,” she said.  “Or you, really.  You were always running circles around Robb and me at math and science.  Especially science.”  That was true: Jon had won the county science fair three times between the seventh and eleventh grades.

“So - to you, then,” she said, raising her glass.  Jon’s cheeks looked a shade pinker when he imitated her gesture, but perhaps it was just the lighting.   _And the world’s biggest apology,_  was on the tip of her tongue, but Sansa could not quite say it.  Jon, though, merely clinked his glass lightly against hers and sipped his drink.

“What about you?” he asked when he had finished.  Sansa forced herself to smile again.

“I live in Pittsburgh, too,” she answered, and Jon’s eyebrows rose.  “Small world, I suppose.  But I haven’t been there long.”  She took another sip to stall the quiver that threatened to overtake her voice.  “I teach fifth grade at Winterfell Elementary School.  I’ve been working toward getting certified to teach English to the upper grades, but it takes some time - extra college courses and all that.  English was only my minor in college, so I didn’t get enough credits to qualify for the certification process.”  Not that she would now for years, after all the money she’d lost on her wedding, but Jon didn’t need to know that.  She shrugged and took another sip of her drink.  Jon, though, was nodding as though he actually wanted he to continue - it wasn’t one of those bored nods Harry had constantly given her near the end of their relationship - so she continued.  “They don’t exactly let you teach Philip K. Dick or  _The Scarlet Letter_  to fifth-graders, after all.”  Jon nodded again, but said nothing, and Sansa did not want to think any more on her certification, because then she would think of the wedding and of Harry, so she asked the first question she could think of.  “So that’s me for now.  What about you?  Did you ever get to go to Europe with Robb after your senior year?  Any girlfriend back home?”  The last question rolled off her tongue before she could stop it, and Sansa bit back a curse.  It was no damn business of hers whether Jon had a girlfriend, and she wasn’t even buzzed enough to blame the drink.  But Jon did not seem offended, although the Jon she’d always known could mask such things better than most.

“No,” he answered.  “None for me now.  Just trying to keep Robb from getting too many more.”

A sympathetic grin twisted its way onto Sansa’s face.  “And I’m trying to do the same for Marg - boyfriends, that is,” she replied.  “Maybe not successfully, but a girl can dream.”

Jon returned her gesture with another blinding-sun grin of his own.  “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and raised his glass.  Sansa decided to stop wondering why he didn’t hate her.

“Cheers,” she said and clinked her glass against his.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow was supposed to hate Sansa Stark, not pay for her drinks. And he certainly wasn't supposed to attract her.

“Sansa Stark, you naughty girl!”

Sansa, who had been listening to Jon describe his and Robb’s adventures at the Oktoberfest in Germany three years before, jumped in her chair and bit back a groan. Margaery Tyrell’s high, girlish voice, which could pierce through the hubbub of a Broadway theater at intermission if needed, was now practically piercing Sansa’s eardrums. She turned to see her friend smirking at her elbow. The other girl’s arm was thrown around the waist of the redheaded man from earlier.

Margaery clicked her tongue. “My, my, my,” she drawled. “It’s always you innocent little lambs, isn’t it? I mean, everybody expects me to have my way with the most gorgeous men in the room – ” she nudged the man beside her, who looked about to interrupt Margaery, with her shoulder, but the gesture made his mouth snap shut and his oddly familiar blue eyes twinkle – “but when you Stark girls rebel, you _rebel_ , right?” She turned to Jon. Hel _lo_ , there, handsome.” She raised an eyebrow and slowly ogled him from his curls to his scuffed boots. His cheeks and ears flushed pink, but, unlike most men on the receiving end of what Sansa referred to as Margaery’s meat market gaze, he did not flinch. From the way she raised one shapely eyebrow when she looked back up at Jon’s steady gray gaze, Margaery was almost as impressed as Sansa.

“What a pleasure to meet you, Mr. – ?” Margaery extended a hand and quirked an eyebrow at Sansa, who finally found her tongue. A subdued snort of laughter escaped the man next to her, and Sansa glanced at him again. Now his entire face looked familiar, and his eyes had narrowed as if he were thinking the same about her. She cursed the pounding music coming from the direction of the dance floor, and herself for letting that and a mere two drinks get to her memory. Good gods, when had she gotten so old? She must have known him back when she was young, she thought, young enough to bar-hop as effortlessly as Marg still did – or maybe even younger than that, back when she’d known Jon.

_Shit. Jon._

Sansa whirled back toward Jon, her own cheeks now flushing. “Oh, sorry!” she exclaimed. She flung her feet to the floor so she could stand and introduce Jon properly, but her shoes, which were much narrower through the heel than the sturdy loafers she usually wore in the classroom, hit the floor at an odd angle, and she reached over out of instinct to grab Jon’s arm. He reached over to steady her at once. His grip was warm and solid, and Sansa clung to him for a moment longer than she needed. She’d dare any woman to try peeling herself from those rock-hard arm muscles. Greek god, indeed, she thought, and felt herself redden.

“Sorry,” she said again. Margaery threw her a shit-eating grin, and Sansa barely restrained herself from sticking out her tongue.

“Margaery Tyrell, this is Jon Snow,” she began, but that was as far as she got. Marg’s redhead burst out laughing, and both women stared at him, startled. Jon, however, threw him a dirty look, and the man laughed harder.

“Wait.” Sansa could practically see the light bulb flickering inside her friend’s head.

“You two know each other?” The question left Sansa’s mouth at the same time Margaery asked it. This time, even Jon cracked a grin. The red-haired man stopped laughing, but his cat-with-the-canary grin rivaled the best one Margaery could produce.

Suddenly, pigtails and a maple tree and pebbles on the beach flashed in front of Sansa’s eyes. No wonder she had thought of Jon at once when she’d seen the redhead. His grin widened as he turned his full attention to her.

“Stark,” he said, and reached out both arms. “Sansa Stark! How the hell are you?”

“Robb!” Sansa squealed at the same moment, and threw her own arms around him. “Robb Tully! How the living hell are _you_? Other than causing more trouble than you’re worth, according to your brother.” She grinned at Jon, whose gray eyes laughed better than Marg’s practiced mouth. Sansa felt her breath skip in her chest, and her eyes swerved to meet Robb’s. For gods’ sake, if she kept this up her face would turn redder than it had back at senior prom, when Joffrey Baratheon had first kissed her – not that that hadn’t been an utter waste of Sansa’s first kiss, but still.

“So I finally got McBroody to peel himself out of his office,” Robb was saying to Margaery, “not that I thought he’d actually talk to a girl.” He winked at Jon, who rolled his eyes. Robb tilted his head toward Jon’s beer glass, which was nearly empty.

“So,” he said, “why don’t I get a round, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to, Sansa Stark. With special emphasis, naturally, on how you found this lovely lady.” He leaned over to kiss Marg’s cheek, and the other woman’s eyes widened by a fraction of an inch. One corner of Sansa’s mouth curved upward, and Margaery returned the gesture with her best _drop dead, Sansa Stark_ glare.

“I’m game for that,” she replied. “But it’s a bit loud in here, don’t you think?”

“Oh, _a bit loud_.” Margaery smirked and nudged Robb again. “That’s how you can tell this one hasn’t gotten out enough.”

Robb playfully punched Jon in the shoulder, earning himself a glare. “Perfect,” he replied. “Meet the king of the wallflowers.”

Margaery’s ears perked up. “You know,” she said, “I think there’s a new club not far from here called ‘The Wallflower.’” She winked at Sansa. “I hear it’s not as ‘a bit loud’ as this one, but their cocktails are to die for.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Robb, who shot her the blinding Tully grin Sansa had seen him use on far too many girls back in high school. “What do you say, handsome?”

Robb agreed at once. Jon and Sansa both shrugged. Jon rolled his eyes toward Robb with the long-suffering look of an introvert accustomed to being dragged to bar after party for his own supposed good, and Sansa smiled back at him. _You have no idea, Jon Snow,_ she wanted to say, but if she remembered anything about Robb Tully, that wasn’t quite true. Her fellow redhead was possibly the only social butterfly she’d ever known who could give Margaery Tyrell a run for her money.

Sansa didn’t notice Jon grabbing her check and handing it to the bartender with his credit card until it was too late for her to whip out her wallet.

“You really didn’t need to,” she admonished Jon as the four headed outside to catch a taxi. “Really. If anything, I’m the one who owes you.” This time, her reddening face had nothing to do with Margaery or muscles, but she forced her gaze to Jon’s nonetheless. “I never really – properly apologized to you for what a bitch I was to you.”

Jon’s eyes widened, and for a moment Sansa could see the thick glasses he’d worn in high school days in front of them again. He’d gotten them in the ninth grade, back when Sansa had started hanging out with Jeyne Poole and her crowd and slowly stopped hiking and swimming and stargazing with Jon and Robb. But Robb had fit in with the popular kids as easily as Sansa had and Jon had not. Some time halfway through her freshman year, Sansa had stared over at Jon, who was eating his lunch alone at one end of the cafeteria, and realized that she’d gone from eating lunch with him once or twice a week to, well, never. Jon was outside, she was in, and nothing could be done about it.

Jon had tried, though. He hadn’t cared about Jeyne or Joffrey or any of the other kids, but he’d cared about Sansa enough to help her with her geometry problems from time to time, or offer her an extra lemon bar he’d grabbed from the cafeteria now and then when Jeyne or another girl had made her upset by deeming her hair or her clothes or her makeup unfashionable. Sometimes they’d forget the passing time long enough to regain a precious bit of their closer days back in elementary and middle school. Sansa would always end up laughing somehow, and Jon would give her a shy smile or two, and they’d forget the barriers between them for a little while.

But then Jon had ruined everything by asking her to their junior prom.

He was a nerd with braces and glasses and a head full of unfashionably long curls, and Sansa had straight white teeth and straight, glowing red hair and stars in her eyes whenever she looked at Joffrey Baratheon, whom she had felt sure would ask her to the prom. So when Jon had finally gotten the courage to stutter out his invitation one day when they were heading out of seventh period together, she’d been struck dumb. Not that she minded hanging out with Jon now and again, or the fact that he was always willing to help her solve her math problems, but he’d be a disaster as a prom date, and she’d have to spend the next month explaining to Jeyne and Joffrey and everyone else what the hell she’d been thinking.

That thought had made her burst into a disbelieving fit of giggles, one that hadn’t stopped even when Jon’s head had dropped and his hands had sunk deep into his pockets and he’d slouched sadly against the wall. Sansa had felt a twinge of guilt, but then, what else was she supposed to have said, really? So she had been shocked to no end when Jon had pushed himself away from the wall and looked straight back up at her instead of slinking away as she’d expected him to do.

“I really – I’d dress up right and everything,” he’d urged her. “I’ll ask Robb how to do it – I wouldn’t embarrass you or anything.”

Sansa had never seen him so direct or so dreadfully earnest. The look he’d given her had been longing and almost fierce, and she’d felt an odd, pleasant shiver crawl up her spine. For a moment she had almost changed her mind. But then she had remembered Joffrey and his perfect smile and his perfect manners and his perfectly coiffed _everything_ , and she’d laughed again, though much more shrilly than she’d meant to.

“As if!” she had spouted. “Jon Snow, if you think I’d consider going to prom with you, you’re even more pathetic than I thought you were. Good gods, you’re a such a mind-numbingly hopeless idiot.”

She’d turned on her heels and strode off to join Jeyne and the others. When she had seen Jon at school the next morning, he had refused to meet her eyes, and his own had been suspiciously puffy. When they had caught Sansa’s, they had not been angry or mournful or anything so much as dull and blank and empty. The previous day’s guilt had knifed at Sansa again, and she had quickly turned away.

She and Jon had spoken only once more after that before his family left the neighborhood. It had been purely an accidental encounter, as they’d each gone hiking on their favorite trail and met near the lake end of it, where their bikes were parked. Sansa had rounded a bend in the trail to see Jon sitting to one side, rocking back and forth in pain. He’d twisted his ankle and could not walk on his own. Sansa had gone white as a sheet when she’d seen that he could not even get up, and for a moment her head had spun and she’d been afraid she would collapse to the ground next to Jon. But she, of all people, owed him every bit of strength she could muster. So she’d taken a deep breath, determined not to show him her fright, and eventually coaxed him into standing. He’d been able to walk only by leaning heavily on her shoulder, and every so often he’d had to switch sides because the shoulder he was leaning on would be aching unbearably. The July sun had beat down on them with a vengeance through the humid air, and Jon’s proximity only made them that much more uncomfortable. But they’d made it eventually to a place where Sansa could get service for her cell phone, and she and Jon had both sunk to the ground with relief as they waited for Robb and his buddies to pick them up. Sansa had opened her mouth dozens of times to apologize, but the words would stick in her throat, or she’d feel another heat wave assaulting her flushed skin, or she’d remember how Joffrey had asked Jeyne rather than her to the prom and get a lump in her throat.

When Robb and his friends had finally reached them, Sansa had still been trying to come up with something to say. All that came out by the time they were loading Jon into Robb’s car, though, was a mumbled, “Please be OK, Jon.” For a moment she’d thought he hadn’t heard her through the pain, which was already making him grit his teeth. But he’d nodded and mumbled, “Thanks,” and Robb, after ensuring that Sansa was well enough to ride her bike home, had slammed the car door shut.

Two weeks later, Jon’s family moved away. Sansa did not see him again before that.

The sound of a car braking a yard or so away snapped Sansa back to the present. She started, and Jon put a gentle hand on her arm. Sansa willed her face not to get any redder as she exhaled. Jon removed his hand from her arm and shrugged, and for a moment Sansa saw the shy nerd in glasses again.

“We were kids, Sansa,” he finally said, and shrugged again. “It was a long time ago.”

“Still.” Sansa was not about to let him go without an apology for a second time. “I was a snobby little bitch with a stick up my ass and egg on my face. We both know it.”

Jon raised an eyebrow as though he couldn’t quite believe her, which encouraged Sansa’s words to rush out more quickly. “I really – I was – how did I put it? – the mind-numbingly hopeless idiot.” That was true enough. “Look, I’ve seen now how cruel kids can be even in the fifth grade. I’d say I can’t imagine how bad they’ll be by eleventh, except that I was that bad. I really did deserve Joffrey Baratheon, after all.”

She spit out the name like the curse it was, and Jon shook his head.

“Nobody deserves Joffrey Baratheon,” he said wryly, and Sansa cursed at herself. Joffrey, after all, had taken more than enough pleasure in tormenting Jon back in the day, back before Robb had beaten him up one day in tenth grade and they’d both been sent to the principal’s office. “Least of all you, Sansa.”

Sansa blinked. Her eyes felt wet all of a sudden, and she cursed at herself again. She coughed to cover it before speaking again.

“Still,” she said, “I’m sorry. And I should have told you that thirteen years ago. Although I’d deserve it if you didn’t forgive me.” _Fuck me,_ she almost added, and then blushed when she realized how he could have taken it. Instead Jon rubbed the back of his neck, and Sansa shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. For a long moment neither said anything. Then Jon broke the silence.

“But I do,” he said. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Sansa could only blink at him. He looked just as earnest and just as guileless as he ever had back when he’d been pointing out the solution to a particularly tough geometry equation, and she felt a warm, almost giddy contentment spread through her limbs. She could almost believe herself a blushing seventeen-year-old schoolgirl again, and before she could stop it, a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl grin spread across her face.

“Thank you, Jon,” she said quietly, and he smiled back.

A car horn blared, and the spell was broken.

“Earth to lovebirds! Over here!” yelled Margaery. Sansa whipped around, blushing, to see her friend and a grinning Robb Tully holding open the door of a taxi. She stuck her tongue out and turned to Jon, whose face must have been about as red as her own.

“I officially apologize for her, too, by the way,” she replied, and Jon shrugged.

“I could say the same for him,” he said, gesturing to Robb.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

The cab dropped them off in front of The Wallflower, which stood next to a building bearing a sign with two intertwining roses above the words: _The White Rose Wedding Chapel._ Sansa averted her eyes and made a beeline for the nightclub’s door as soon as she saw it.

“Nice place to put a club,” remarked Robb casually. Sansa wanted to reply that it would have been nicer if the club had been at least a mile away from the chapel, but Robb, after all, could not be expected to know anything about Harry, and, after all, this was Vegas. Still, Margaery threw him a very dirty look, and Robb held up both hands in surrender.

Two rounds of drinks later, Sansa had discovered that Jon’s apartment building back in Pittsburgh was less than five blocks away from hers, that Robb and Margaery were practically next-door neighbors, and that he worked at a prestigious law firm not far from the art gallery Margaery’s family owned. Robb, it turned out, knew his modern artists, which Sansa had known Margaery long enough to tell impressed her. Jon interrupted their banter long enough to ask if bridge blueprints counted as modern art, and Robb gave him a dirty look. Sansa tried and failed to suppress a giggle. Jon shrugged and took another sip of beer.

“Geometry’s more fun than art, remember?” he said, and Sansa rewarded him with a mock glare.

“I still haven’t blocked out that horror from my brain, and it’s been twelve years,” she retorted. “Books are more fun than both, not that my fifth-graders always get that.”

Jon spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Depends on the book,” he said, “although since you mentioned Philip K. Dick earlier…”

Yet another round of drinks passed, and Sansa was alternating sips of water with red wine. Margaery downed the last sip of her Cosmo and rolled her eyes at Jon, who was expounding on the genetic science behind _The Giver_ to a skeptical Sansa. She turned to Robb in a mock huff.

“The sheer amount of geekdom at this table is giving me a headache, handsome,” she said to Robb, who had been matching her pace at least two or three drinks ahead of Sansa and Jon. “Care to take me dancing?”

Robb winked at her. “Gladly, my lady,” he said, kissing Margaery’s hand, and she actually giggled before pulling him out onto the dance floor.

Sansa rolled her eyes at Jon. “Oh, brother,” she said, and giggled when she realized how her choice of words sounded. “Not literally, of course, but I haven’t seen that look off her more than twice in the thousand or so dates she’s been on. I think we’re in trouble.”

Jon only smiled and raised his glass. “I was about to say that for him,” he remarked dryly, and Sansa clinked her glass against his.

By the time she and Jon had gotten their next drink, Robb and Margaery were making out in a corner of the dance floor. She and Jon both snorted with laughter. Sansa thought that perhaps the amount of alcohol in both their systems made the sight funnier than it would have been otherwise, but even if she had a hangover the size of Texas the next morning, she’d still never let Margaery live it down. Or not. Maybe ignorance really would be bliss in Marg’s case. She took a long sip of her rum and Coke.

“Better her than me,” flew out of her mouth before she could stop the words. It took Jon a moment or two – he’d outpaced her by a drink or two – but he finally quirked an eyebrow at her. It stayed up, and she rushed to explain.

“Apparently I’m a frigid kisser,” she said. “It’s what my ex said. Why he said he was in bed with the girl he was with when I caught him. Marg is a way better kisser than I am. Not with him, I mean, but, you know.” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of her friend, who by now had her tongue firmly down the throat of a thoroughly engrossed Robb.

Jon shook his head, and that mournful look he’d mastered so well in high school reappeared.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Sansa,” he murmured. “What a prick. And…and I’m sure you’re not a frigid kisser at all.” His lips twisted faintly for a moment as if trying to figure out what to say next. “I mean, that’s the sort of thing pricks say when they do that to girls who are too good for them, you know?”

Sansa shrugged. All of the earnestness from before was back, and the urge to let her eyes water because of it warred with the urge to do something stupid and heart-stopping and delicious, like running her fingers through his curls or, more delicious yet, kissing him. Instead, she watched as the cloud formed and then retreated against the glass’s surface. She shrugged again. “All right, only a little frigid.”

“No.” Jon’s tone was lighter, and Sansa looked back up at him. “Not frigid at all. Or glacial. That’s what my ex said when she dumped me.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Maybe she was being a prick, too,” she replied. “You don’t look frigid to me at all, either.”

Jon shrugged and blew a breath onto his own glass. His lips formed the fullest, loveliest pucker Sansa had ever seen. His stubble looked lovely from close up, too, and Sansa had never thought stubble particularly lovely before. And he still smelled like warmth and cedar.

“See?” she said when the mist had cleared, and she did not bother trying to hide her blush this time. “What did you tell me, Jon Snow? Not frigid at all.” She reached up and brushed away a curl that had fallen over his eye. Slowly, Jon reached over and rubbed a thumb against the back of her hand.

“Neither are you, Sansa Stark,” he murmured. His voice was as gravelly and soft and sweet as Jon had been since the day she’d met him.

When she reached over to kiss him, Sansa discovered that his lips were soft and sweet too. Just a brush made her crave more, but Jon had gone still, so she drew back to gauge his response. His eyes were wide and still and a bit disbelieving, as though he’d still thought her fool enough to scorn him for being a nerd a second time. Then his lips jerked briefly upward, and his gaze softened, and he reached toward her with his free hand. Sansa closed both her eyes and the distance between herself and Jon at once.

Jon’s hand reached around to cradle the back of Sansa’s head as his lips explored hers. First they probed softly, carefully, almost, Sansa thought, like an archaeologist’s brush on the surface of a priceless artifact. He waited until her pace matched his own before gently coaxing her lips with the tip of his tongue. Sansa did not hesitate to open her mouth under his. His tongue painted languorous strokes along her own, and his lips fused more firmly to hers as he threaded one hand through the hair at her temple and slipped his other arm around her back. Sansa hummed with delight into his mouth as she threw both arms around his neck and caressed his soft, amazing, Greek-god curls. After who knew and who cared how long, he drew back briefly, but only to plant kisses along her cheeks and forehead, before he returned to her mouth, letting her set the pace. And it may not have been a terribly long time since she’d kissed Harry the prick, but it had been a damn long time since she’d kissed a guy who’d let her have her way like that, who’d kissed her like he actually cared about pleasing her.

And screw the word _glacial_ to hell, Sansa’s mind murmured as it faded into a blissful haze. Jon Snow and his kisses could melt the polar ice caps on every planet the entire pantheon of Greek gods could think of.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa explains. Jon listens. At least they can agree that Robb and Margaery are pains. And that what happened last night shouldn't happen again...right?

Margaery Tyrell was giggling to no end, and the sheer pitch of her voice was making Sansa’s head throb. Fatigue kept weighing her eyelids down, but that did not keep her from yelling at her friend to shut up. Margaery only laughed harder.

“Are you _jealous_ , Sansa Stark?” she snickered, and Sansa groaned.

“Oh, fuck _off_ , Marg, and be halfway decent for once in your life,” she snapped. Her eyes opened long enough to see Margaery blowing a raspberry at her. Robb Tully, planted firmly at Margaery’s side, doubled over with laughter.

Sansa would have shrieked with frustration, but before she could, she heard a low, gravelly voice at her elbow. It took a few moments for her to place it as Jon Snow’s. He was growling something at Robb, but Sansa was too tired to make it out at first.

“No, Jon,” she moaned when her mind finally recognized his words. “No – you shouldn’t – how about me?”

His voice turned soothing at once, but he was telling her no. Sansa shook her head and cut him off.

“It’s fine, Jon,” she insisted. “Fine, there’s plenty of room…”

She couldn’t remember what he said after that, but she did feel a warm pair of arms catching her when she stumbled.   Her head lolled against the chest of whoever was carrying her. He stopped for a few moments, and she heard a quiet beep and the creak of a door opening. Then she sank slowly into a cloud of fabric and warmth and quiet – oh, thank the gods it was finally quiet…

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Sansa awoke to the sound of a soft thud. She flopped over onto her other side to find its source, but her head protested so loudly that she had to blink a few times. She saw the silhouette of a man standing next to the couch and, head notwithstanding, flung herself upward into a sitting position. Before she could fling her feet to the floor and try to stand, however, she realized that she was looking at Jon Snow. He was wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and he’d tied half his curls back in a bun, but it was indeed Jon, and he was looking very apologetically back at her.

“Sorry,” he whispered, holding out both hands. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just heading downstairs for some coffee.”

Sansa squinted at him. “Wait, what – why did – ” That was when she noticed the neatly folded blankets stacked on one side of the couch. She pressed one hand to her forehead as her memories returned scattershot from the previous night: Margaery giggling as she pulled Robb into a hotel suite; Robb laughing, “Sorry, mate,” at Jon; Sansa snapping at Margaery; Jon carrying Sansa into another hotel room; Jon kissing her and holding her and stroking his tongue against hers. Sansa flushed beet red. _Wait, what if –_ but no. She didn’t have a great deal of experience with men, but she knew enough to recognize how her body felt after having sex, and she could feel no signs of it now.

She must have looked even more confused than she felt, though, because Jon was taking a step back toward the couch.

“I wasn’t being a creep,” he said, his voice still hushed. “I just brought you here, and I stayed on the couch because you offered.”

Sansa nodded. Her head screamed at her, and she swore at herself for trying to stay anywhere near Margaery’s ballpark with her alcohol consumption. But she hadn’t blacked out, and now that she thought about it, she definitely remembered mumbling to Jon that he should stay in her room and use the other bed, which Margaery was so determined to leave empty.

“I didn’t do anything too stupid, did I?” she blurted out. “I mean, anything I need to apologize for? I remember yelling at someone.”

Jon huffed a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he replied, “although Margaery didn’t seem too upset with you for it. She’s the one you were, telling very um, firmly that she was being the rudest person in the world.”

Sansa groaned. “Did I yell enough to bother anyone in the neighboring rooms?” she asked. She must have looked comically apologetic, for Jon’s lips quirked up at the corners as he shook his head.

“Nope,” he replied. “Not that I heard, anyway.”

Sansa buried her face in her hands and let out a long, slow breath. She had only one more question for Jon, but this revolved around a moment she could remember perfectly.

“OK,” she said when she forced herself to look back up at him. “But I – look, if I crossed a line last night back at the club, I’m sorry. I mean – ” she bit her lip – “I don’t regret it or anything. I don’t regret it at all. I just didn’t want to, you know, make you uncomfortable.”

_Oh, gods,_ she thought, mortified at the warmth spreading across her cheeks. She sounded like one of her own fifth-graders asking a friend if she thought a boy “liked” her. And she was supposed to be their calm, cool, unflappable, firstborn-child-responsible teacher. Right.

Jon, however, did not seem to mind, for he only shook his head.

“No, it’s fine,” he answered, and took a few steps toward her before stopping, still out of her reach, and rubbing the back of his neck again. “I was going to say about the same thing to you, actually. I didn’t want to do anything you didn’t want.”

Sansa shook her head firmly. “No,” she assured him, “you didn’t, not at all, and I have you to thank for getting me here in one piece. I shouldn’t have had that last drink.” She rubbed her hand against her forehead, which had begun to ache in earnest. “And you shouldn’t have had to be, well, saddled with me like that. I’m sorry you were.”

Jon only shrugged. “If you think you were a little off, you should have seen Robb and Margaery,” he said dryly. Sansa stifled a giggle.

“Oh, gods, please tell me they weren’t dry-humping in the taxi,” she groaned, and Jon’s lips twitched again.

“Can’t tell you that, or I’d be lying,” he said, and Sansa groaned more loudly. “But they didn’t do any worse, at least not till we got back and they kicked me out of my room.”

“Oh, gods, did I mention beforehand that I needed to apologize for her up front?” Sansa grimaced. “Even if I did, I wholeheartedly apologize now.”

“And I apologize for him,” replied Jon. Sansa shook her head and swung her legs to the floor.

“Well, at least he didn’t kick me out of my room,” muttered Sansa, and slowly rose to her feet. Jon reached out an arm to help her up.

“Thanks,” Sansa murmured. Jon shook his head.

“No problem,” he replied. “And – sorry I woke you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” Sansa let go of his arm. “I was still fuzzy, and you looked – different from last night.”

“You mean, like a disheveled dork.” Jon’s tone was light, but the warmth had gone out of it. Sansa froze. She had used that phrase gods knew how many times to refer to anyone she or her friends found lacking in style or social graces, back when she had been a nasty little bitch in Jeyne’s and Joffrey’s thrall. She’d probably described Jon that way dozens of times to her giggling friends, and although she’d never said it in front of Robb, Jon had no doubt heard of it and probably witnessed it firsthand more than once. He didn’t look as though he were deliberately throwing it back in her face at the moment, although she more than deserved it. She bit her lip, and the resulting silence hung awkwardly in the air until Sansa could not take it.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she finally said. “I said it like that for years, back when I was the stupid bitch version of myself. Now, I consider it a very good thing.” Jon quirked one eyebrow at her, which Sansa took as a good sign.

“Look,” she continued, “the sweetest, kindest guy I ever dated was a guy I would have turned up my nose at for being a ‘dork’” – she bunched the two longest fingers of each hand together like quotation marks – “back then. And he was the best person I’ve ever met. I mean, we didn’t date for long because we weren’t right for each other, but that doesn’t change anything, and anyway, he ended up going out with one of my friends later. They’re perfect for each other, and she’s smart enough to know how lucky she is to have him. And I’ve dated plenty of the other type – you know, the gorgeous pricks. Probably because I’m a slow learner.” She sighed. Her head was starting to pound again. “But eventually, I did learn. I just wish I’d learned earlier, so that I hadn’t hurt you so much. You, and some other people.” She rubbed her thumb in circles over her forehead to ease the ache. “I have a few students like that now – really kind, sweet kids who don’t belong in the cliques run by a couple of younger versions of stupid bitch me. I’d love to scream at them to stop hurting the others that way. But I can’t. School rules, and all that.” She opened her eyes to meet Jon’s. He looked a bit dumbfounded. She threw him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “Too much verbal vomit. But I just meant to say, Jon, that I’m sorry. And I wish to gods I’d been the friend you deserved, instead of the one you deserved to toss out in the trash.”

Jon shook his head. “No,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. And I’m glad I didn’t. Those kids you’re teaching – they might remember more of what you tell them than you think.”

“Gods, I hope so,” Sansa sighed. “I hope they learn faster than I did. We’d have a lot fewer bitches and gorgeous pricks. And more girls who appreciate the guys like Sam. The one I dated earlier,” she added when Jon shot her a quizzical look. “Which is why I was half shocked when you said you were single. I really thought some girl who didn’t mind having a sweet, amazing dork over a cute prick would have snapped you up by now.” Had that really just flown out of her mouth? _Smooth one, Stark. Really smooth._ She blushed beet red. Jon only shook his head.

“There were a couple who didn’t mind that I was a dork,” he replied. “Things just never really worked out, is all.”

“Oh.” Sansa reached back up to rub her forehead. “Well – their loss. Sorry. More verbal vomit. I’ll jump in the shower and spare you more – unless you want to go first.”

Jon shook his head. “No, I’m good,” he replied. “I might have one after I get coffee, if that’s all right with you.”

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Jon was still out when Margaery finally returned. Sansa had just gotten out of the shower and secured a towel around herself when the door opened. She shrieked when she heard the noise, and Margaery dramatically covered her ears.

“Oh, gods almighty, it’s too early!” she groaned. Sansa glared at her.

“It’s almost eleven, Marg,” she answered. “Good gods. It’s only too early if you were up at all bloody hours kicking Jon out of his room.” She slowed the last few words down for emphasis. Margaery had the good grace to look ashamed, but only a little.

“Well, I thought at the time he might not mind,” she said, “seeing how you two were having such a good time at The Wallflower. Rather like Robb and me.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Of course, we had a much better time afterwards. I figured you and Jon would too. You were being very scandalously naughty even for you, Sansa.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Please,” she huffed. “We had a good time by going to bed and sleeping like responsible adults. Jon was a gentleman. He didn’t even take your bed, although I told him to feel free to ruffle it up as much as he liked.”

Margaery shook her head. “I won’t need it tonight, either,” she said, “although Robb and I will get our own room so you can each have the one you’re used to. It would be such a shame for you two not to take advantage of the opportunity, though.” She winked. “Seriously, Sansa, I’ve never seen you kiss a guy like that. Ever. Are you sure you two didn’t do anything? You two looked ready to devour the hell out of each other.” She wiggled her eyebrows again. “After all, your secret’s safe with me. I don’t judge or tell, remember?”

Sansa sighed. “In that case, it pains me to inform you that no devouring went on,” she said firmly, and Margaery rolled her eyes.

“And the school teacher is back in session,” she sighed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “If you say so, love. If you have no more lovely secrets to spill, I’ll make myself look presentable. Robb wants to take me to some hole in the wall that serves the best coffee in the world.” She stepped out of her dress as she spoke and she turned to head to her suitcase in the corner of the bedroom. At the very same time, Sansa’s towel fell out of its knot above her breasts. She was scrambling to retie it when Jon opened the door. His eyes and jaw fell into identical ‘O’ shapes when he saw the two nearly naked women, and the sound he emitted made Sansa think of a fish flopping on the ground and trying to get back to the water. Her own eyes widened, but Margaery, when she noticed Jon, merely cocked an eyebrow and grinned at him. Jon gulped again, gasped, “Sorry,” and whirled out of the room, slamming the door in his haste to leave.

Sansa gaped at the door like a fish, and Margaery snorted into her hand as she bent down to retrieve a skirt from her trunk.

“You know,” she said, brushing by her friend on the way into the bathroom, “he barely even noticed me. He only had eyes for you, dear.”

“Shut up, Margaery,” Sansa mumbled. Margaery burst into laughter and shut the bathroom door.

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As it turned out, the hole in the wall of which Robb had spoken was actually named _The Hole in the Wall_ , and its coffee, if not the best in the world, was awfully close. Robb, who along with Margaery had apologized profusely to Jon right off the bat for the previous night’s incident, bought brunch for the four of them. Once properly fueled, they headed off to Madame Tussaud’s. Robb and Margaery posed for the lion’s share of the photos next to the statues, although Sansa’s favorite shot was one she captured right after Jon and Robb had posed for a mock glare session with the statue of Jack Nicholson. Robb had broken down laughing immediately afterward, but Jon had assumed Jack’s exact position and mimicked his expression perfectly, down to the tilt of his eyebrows, without cracking his façade.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Jon Snow,” she teased when she showed him the photo. He only chuckled.

“Now and then, maybe,” he said. “Hold onto that photo. I might not be able to pull that off again for about twenty years.”

Sansa grinned at him. His eyes twinkled, and her smile widened. Only a drawn-out whistle from Margaery pulled them out of the moment.

Once out of the museum, the four friends headed to the Luxor Hotel and Casino. Robb and Margaery headed off to the casino, arguing merrily over whether to play craps or roulette. Sansa and Jon shuffled through the crowds toward the Titanic Artifact Exhibition. Jon offered Sansa his arm so they would not lose each other in the press of tourists. The warmth of his skin and the feel of the fine hairs under her fingers provided a welcome contrast to the blast of the air conditioners around them. Not until Jon reached for his wallet to pay for the museum’s entry fee did Sansa realize she had hung onto him long after they had passed the most densely packed areas of the building.

Sansa was fascinated by the exhibit, but almost as engrossed in Jon’s descriptions of how this part of the motor or that tool in the engine room would have worked. He clearly knew more than Sansa could ever hope to guess about such things, but he explained them with an everyday clarity she had not expected from an engineering professor, and without talking as if she were five years old. Every so often, Sansa, who had watched a number of _Titanic_ documentaries over the years, would see an object that jogged her memory, and Jon, who admitted he knew next to nothing about the sinking itself, would listen with as ready an ear as she had given him. When they finally reached the gift shop, Sansa wished at once that they could do the entire tour again. Getting ice cream cones from a stand in the food court, however, was the next best thing, especially when Sansa persuaded Jon to imitate a few more of the expressions she’d captured on the figures at the wax museum. She laughed so hard that a drop of the ice cream she’d just licked off her cone went dribbling down her chin. Just like a fifteen-year-old girl on a first date, she scolded herself, but the smile Jon flashed at her buried her impulse to tell herself to get a grip. No, she decided, that grip was already lost.

They met Margaery and Robb for dinner and drinks at one of the hotel’s flagship restaurants. Robb had just finished regaling them with another story of one of his previous escapades in Las Vegas back in law school when Margaery interrupted the pause that followed by turning to Jon and raising a conspiratorial eyebrow. That was not a good sign, but Sansa could not open her mouth quickly enough to beat her friend to the punch.

“So, Jon,” Margaery drawled, “did you know that you are sitting in the presence of Winterfell Elementary School’s Teacher of the Year?” She gave Sansa a pointed wink.

Jon raised an eyebrow of his own at Sansa, who narrowed her eyes at her friend.

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” she said, turning to Jon, who was smiling.

“Congratulations,” he said. “That’s a real honor.”

Margaery sighed. “I supposed she didn’t tell you why she was named Teacher of the Year, either,” she remarked, and Sansa flushed. Margaery did not miss a beat.

“She got Principal Seaworth to have the school’s first Art Week this year, where the students got art classes every day instead of once a week. They got to make a different piece every day – painting on Monday, sculpture on Tuesday, you know – and Sansa brought in a local artist to teach every class. The kids each picked what they thought was their best piece, and that Saturday they were all exhibited at my family’s art gallery.” She beamed at Sansa, who flushed again. “And she singlehandedly persuaded my entire family – and my grandmother is not easily persuaded, believe me – into hosting the Saturday exhibition, where the kids and their families got to come in and see each other’s work. And that evening, we hosted a gala event for the rest of the community. All proceeds went to the school’s anti-bullying program. It was such a hit that we’re doing it again this year.”

“Thanks for letting us know, Marg,” Sansa said dryly. Robb, however, looked impressed.

“Good on you, kid,” he said, using his old childhood nickname for her. “They’re all lucky to have you.”

He raised his glass, and Margaery clinked it with hers immediately.

“To Sansa Stark, Teacher of the Year,” she chirped, and Jon added his glass to the mix.

“To Sansa,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “Robb happens to be right for once. They’re really lucky to have you.”

Robb shot his brother a mock glare, but Sansa barely noticed it in light of the heat that swept through her body. Her fingers tingled as she reluctantly raised her own glass to complete the clinking quadrant.

“How much of the community is allowed to come?” Jon asked, and even Margaery looked nonplussed.

“I mean,” Jon continued, “is it invitation only, or could I come, and Robb so he can do something constructive for a change? I have a few co-workers who would like it, and if the art professors heard about it, they’d probably want to go too.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “Well, it would depend on the organizing committee and the art gallery owners,” she replied, nodding at Margaery. “If we decide to expand it, we’d have to start planning for that right away, since it takes a while to set up something like that. But I’d love to do it.” She grinned at Jon, and he rewarded her with one of his own.

After a pregnant pause, Margaery cleared her throat. Sansa and Jon, startled, broke away from each other and turned to her at once. Across the table, Robb looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

“Half my firm at least would be game,” he remarked, and Margaery nodded.

“We could open the east gallery for the night,” she said. “And my grandmother won’t mind more guests. The more people she can needle and raise hell with, the better.” She gave Robb a very saucy wink. “And if you think I’m good at it, you’ve seen nothing yet.”

Robb grinned at her. “Challenge accepted, my lady,” he said. Margaery smirked.

While they were waiting for a cab to take them to the Cirque du Soleil, Jon pulled Sansa aside while Margaery and Robb traded kisses.

“I really would like to come, Sansa,” he said. “What you’ve done is a great idea. I know the art professors would love it. Please let me know if you decide to do it that way.”

Sansa could not hold back a very fifteen-year-old-like smile, and had to forcibly stifle a giggle.

“I’ll do everything I can to talk the committee into it,” she said hastily. “I’ll let you and Robb know – oh, shoot, I don’t have your phone numbers.”

Jon whipped his phone out of his pocket and pushed a few buttons. “Here’s Robb’s number,” he said, holding it out to Sansa, who withdrew her own phone from her purse. She entered Robb’s number into it at once, then held it out to Jon.

“For entering yours,” she said. Both corners of Jon’s mouth quirked when his fingers brushed against hers as they exchanged phones. The tingle produced by Jon’s earlier smile returned with a vengeance.

The Cirque du Soleil was even more spectacular than Sansa had hoped, and she found herself gasping in awe at regular intervals. Jon, seated right next to her, turned to glance at her on more than one such occasion, and a few times when she started in her seat, he reached over so she could grab his arm, put his other hand lightly over hers, and rubbed soothing circles over it with his thumb. Sansa felt pleasantly warm again and she thanked the Seven that the arena was so dark and Jon could not see the stupid grin on her face.

They all headed off to a cocktail lounge afterwards at Margaery’s behest. Sansa agreed on the condition that their next destination offer food as well as drinks, and Margaery found a club three doors down from The Wallflower that had a smaller selection of drinks but a far greater selection of appetizers. They made it through two baskets of wings, a tray of mini-quiches, a platter of spring rolls, and a few drinks each before Margaery and Robb headed to the dance floor again. They started kissing almost immediately, and Sansa raised her glass to a grinning Jon, who met it with his own. They talked about the Cirque and ballet and backstage mechanics well into the middle of the next drink, when Sansa realized she had her hand on Jon’s arm again. He did not seem to mind. She smiled broadly, a smile only interrupted when she shifted too far on her stool, the alcohol having slowed her reflexes, and fell forward off of it. Jon caught her before the stool tipped beyond the point of no return, but barely – Sansa supposed they’d each had at least as many drinks as they'd had the previous night – and he had to grab her by the waist with one hand and the stool with the other to avoid watching it crash onto the floor.

“Thank you,” Sansa murmured when her heart had stopped racing. She’d grabbed one of his shoulders to avoid falling to the floor, and he still had his hand on her waist.

“You OK?” he asked. Sansa nodded, but he kept his gaze on hers. Sansa decided it was safe to plant a quick thank-you kiss on his lips.

But Jon returned the kiss, and it was not nearly as quick. His lips lingered over hers, and he hesitated long enough afterward for Sansa to thread one hand through his curls and kiss him again. His hand tightened around her waist, and his lips tightened around hers, and before she knew it she was the one probing his mouth with her tongue as he caressed her cheek, and last night’s bliss crashed over her in waves. She moaned into Jon’s welcoming mouth, and he groaned back into hers. Her free hand reached over to stroke his back in time with the swirls of his tongue against hers. She whimpered when he released her lips, but his own immediately began peppering kisses across her cheek and into the curve of her throat. She turned her head at once to allow him to continue lower, down to her shoulder, where his nose brushed against the strap of her dress, while she lowered her other hand to curl around the nape of his neck and her mouth to plant kisses along his hairline. A low rumble, half-groan, half-laugh, escaped his chest, and he moved both hands to cradle her face while his mouth moved back up to devour her own. It was ferocious and blinding and tender, and Sansa pressed her body flush against his, and he lowered one hand to stroke her shoulder, next to the goosebumps along the strap of her dress. She moaned harder and nibbled softly at his lower lip, and he teased her upper lip with his tongue in return before she fused her lips back over his. One of his hands rose to cup the back of her head, and the other lowered to caress her waist through her dress.

The heat from his touch spread rapidly through the core of her body and blended with the tingling ecstasy from last night, producing a heady mixture that roiled in Sansa’s belly and unfurled into her limbs, and she moaned heavily into Jon’s mouth.

If they’d crossed the line last night, they were smashing the walls of the stadium tonight.

_Well, then, give me the bloody hammer,_ was Sansa’s last coherent thought before she gave herself freely to Jon’s hands and Jon’s lips and the bliss that was overwhelming her from head to toe.


End file.
